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Anger Management


When you occasionally have a really bad

day, and you just need to take it out on someone,

don't take it out on someone you know, take it out

on someone you don't know.


I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone

call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and

dialed it. A man answered, saying "Hello."


I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please

speak with Robyn Carter?"


Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the

right f***ing number!" and the phone was slammed

down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be

so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number

to call her, I found that I had accidentally

transposed the last two digits.


After hanging up with her, I decided to call the

'wrong' number again.


When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled

"You're an asshole!" and hung up. I wrote his number

down with the word 'asshole' next to it, and put it

in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was

paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him

up and yell, "You're an asshole!" It always cheered

me up.


When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my

therapeutic 'asshole' calling would have to stop.

So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John

Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see

if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?"


He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone. I

quickly called him back and said, "That's because

you're an asshole!" and hung up.


One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull

into a parking Spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me

off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited

for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting

for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a

"For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down

his number.


A couple of days later, right after calling the

first asshole (I had his number on speed dial,) I

thought that I'd better call the BMW asshole, too.

I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for



He said, "Yes, it is." I asked, "Can you tell me

where I can see it?" He said, "Yes, I live at 34

Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax. It's a yellow rambler, and

the car's parked right out in front."


I asked, "What's your name?"


He said, "My name is Don Hansen,"


I asked, "When's a good time to catch you, Don?"


He said, "I'm home every evening after five."


I said, "Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"


He said, "Yes?"


I said, "Don, you're an asshole!"


Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed

dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two

assholes to call.


Then I came up with an idea. I called asshole #1.

He said, "Hello."

I said, "You're an asshole!" (But I didn't hang up.)

He asked, "Are you still there?"

I said, "Yeah,"

He screamed, "Stop calling me,"

I said, "Make me,"

He asked, "Who are you?"

I said, "My name is Don Hansen."

He said, "Yeah? Where do you live?" I said,


"Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, a

yellow rambler, I have a black Beamer parked in



He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you

had better start saying your prayers."



I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole," and

hung up.

Then I called Asshole #2.

He said, "Hello?"

I said, "Hello, asshole,"

He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."

I said, "You'll what?"

He exclaimed, "I'll kick your ass,"

I answered, "Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm

coming over right now."


Then I hung up and immediately called the police,

saying that I lived at

34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, and that I was on my

way over there to kill my gay lover.


Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war

going down in Oaktree Blvd. in Fairfax.

I quickly got into my car and headed over to

Fairfax. I got there just in time to watch two

assholes beating the crap out of each other in front

of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and

surrounded by a news crew.


NOW I feel much better.

Anger Management really does work.




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A couple who were attending an art exhibition at the London National Gallery were staring at a portrait that had them totally confused. The painting depicted three black men, totally naked, sitting on a park bench. Two of the black men had black penises, but the one sitting in the middle had a pink penis.


The curator of the gallery realised the confused couple were having trouble interpreting the painting and offered his assistance. He went on and on for nearly half an hour explaining how it depicted the sexual emasculation of African Americans in a predominantly white patriarchal society. In fact, he pointed out, some serious critics believed that the pink penis reflects the cultural and social oppression expressed by gay men in contemporary society.


After the curator left, a Welshman approached the couple. He said, "Would you like to know what the painting is really about."


The couple asked, "How can you claim to know more about the painting than the curator of the gallery?"


"Because I'm the man who painted it," he replied. "There is no African American representation at all. They are simply three Welsh coal miners and the guy in the middle went home for lunch."

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The Pope was having a shower. Although he was very strict about the Celibacy rules, he occasionally felt the need to exercise the right wrist, and this was one of these occasions. Just as he reached the Papal Climax, he saw a paparazzi photographer capturing the moment of the holy seed flying through the air.


â??Hold on a minuteâ? said the Pope. â??You can't publish that. You'll destroy the reputation of the Catholic Church.â?Â

â??This picture is my lottery winâ? said the photographer. â??I'll be financially secure for life.â?Â


So, the Pope offered to buy the camera from the photographer, and after lots of negotiation, they eventually arrived at a figure of two million dollars. The Pope then dried himself off and headed off with his new camera.


He met his housekeeper, who spotted the camera. â??That looks like a really good cameraâ? she said. â??How much did it cost?â?Â

â??Two million dollarsâ? replied the Pope.


â??Two million dollars! TWO MILLION DOLLARS!â? said the housekeeper. â??They must have seen you coming!â?Â


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Many centuries ago, a Pope decreed that all Jews had to convert to Catholicism or leave Italy.


There was a huge outcry from the Jewish community, so the Pope offered a deal. He would have a religious debate with the leader of the Jewish community. If the rabbi won, they could stay. But if the Pope won, they'd have to convert or leave.


The Jews picked their oldest and wisest rabbi to represent them. However, since the rabbi spoke no Italian and the Pope spoke no Yiddish, it would be a 'silent' debate.


On the chosen date, the Pope and Rabbi sat opposite each other.


The Pope raised his hand and showed three fingers.


The rabbi looked back and raised one finger.


Next, the Pope waved his finger around his head.


The rabbi pointed to the ground where he sat.


The Pope brought out a communion wafer and a chalice of wine.


The rabbi pulled out an apple.


With that, the Pope stood up, declared himself beaten and said the rabbi was too clever. The Jews could remain in Italy.


Later, the cardinals met with the Pope and asked what had happened.


The Pope said, "First, I held up three fingers to represent the Trinity. The rabbi responded by holding up a single finger to remind me there is still only one God common to both our beliefs. Then I waved my finger around my head to show him that God was all around us. The rabbi responded by pointing to the ground to show that God was also right there with us at that moment. I took out the wine and wafer to show that God absolves us of our sins, and the rabbi pulled out an apple to remind me of the original sin. He bested me at every move and I had to give up."


Meanwhile, the Jewish community delightedly asked the rabbi how he'd won. "I should know?" he said with a shrug. "Foist, he told me we had three days to get out of Italy, so I gave him the finger. Then he tells me that the whole country would be cleared of Jews and I told him that we were staying right here."


"And then what?" asked a young Jew excitedly.


"Beats me," said the rabbi. "He took out his lunch, so I took out mine."








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Reminds me of a zen koan I read recently.


26. Trading Dialogue for Lodging


Provided he makes and wins an argument about Buddhism with those who live there, any wondering monk can remain in a Zen temple. If he is defeated, he has to move on.


In a temple in the northern part of Japan two brother monks were dwelling together. The elder one was learned, but the younger one was stupid and had but one eye.


A wandering monk came and asked for lodging, properly challenging them to a debate about the sublime teachings. The elder brother, tired that day from much studying, told the younger one to take his place. "Go and request the dialogue in silence," he cautioned.


So the young monk and the stranger went to the shrine and sat down.


Shortly afterwards the traveler rose and went in to the elder brother and said: "Your young brother is a wonderful fellow. He defeated me."


"Relate the dialogue to me," said the elder one.


"Well," explained the traveler, "first I held up one finger, representing Buddha, the enlightened one. So he held up two fingers, signifying Buddha and his teaching. I held up three fingers, representing Buddha, his teaching, and his followers, living the harmonious life. Then he shook his clenched fist in my face, indicating that all three come from one realization. Thus he won and so I have no right to remain here." With this, the traveler left.


"Where is that fellow?" asked the younger one, running in to his elder brother.


"I understand you won the debate."


"Won nothing. I'm going to beat him up."


"Tell me the subject of the debate," asked the elder one.


"Why, the minute he saw me he held up one finger, insulting me by insinuating that I have only one eye. Since he was a stranger I thought I would be polite to him, so I held up two fingers, congratulating him that he has two eyes. Then the impolite wretch held up three fingers, suggesting that between us we only have three eyes. So I got mad and started to punch him, but he ran out and that ended it!"


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